A Winchester Carol
by Must-Be-Thursday
Summary: "You've got to be kidding me. A Christmas Carol?" Dean blinked down at him incredulously. "So I'm going to be visited by the three ghosts of Christmas douchery and if Sam and I don't learn to be excellent to each other we get punished?"


******A Winchester Christmas Carol**

Even if what he did was wrong, he had done it for the right reasons. Or that's what he told himself as he opened the door to the hotel room. The empty hotel room that he was not sharing with his brother because he could not stand that hurt look Sam was throwing his way along with the silent treatment. He probably wasn't welcome anyway. And he wasn't exactly jonesing for a punch in the face, deserved or not.

Sam was being a child about the whole thing. So he sent out a fake 911. He needed to know where Sam's allegiance lay. If anyone should be disappointed, it should be him. It hadn't taken much to have him running off to his little girlfriend again. No matter what he did, he always seemed to be losing his brother. His brother who didn't even look for him for a whole year.

It was arctic cold outside, blustery and miserable. Everything was coated in unfriendly ice and crunchy snow with a nice cocktail of dirt and dead grass thrown in. The impala was wearing a winter coat of salt that was sure to rust the crap out of her if given half a chance. Off in the distance, barely noticeable through the thick fog drizzling in, was an old church spire with a clanging bell.

So busy was he, wallowing in his Marianas trench full of misery, he didn't even bother to turn on the lights in the room, or check it for demons, or put a knife under his pillow. All he did was strip down to jockeys and skin before diving into bed. If something lurking in the dark wanted to kill him, he was going to lie back and let it happen.

* * *

He woke with a start to the sound of metal scraping against metal. Then the sound of someone roughly clearing their throat and moving closer to the bed. It was hard to see in the dark with only the neon of the motel sign coming in the window. He could see a seated figure with its hands folded demurely in its lap.

"Oh good, you're up. Rise and shine boy, I got somethin' important to lay on you." The gruff voice called.

"Bobby? What the hell?! You're supposed to be dead." Dean was sitting bolt upright, hand ghosting over the wall trying to find a lightswitch.

"I am dead ya idjit. You're dreamin', I'm only down here because you need to learn a lesson. Not that you ever listened to me live or dead." Bobby's shape moved closer to the door and he flicked on a light. Well that quickly explained the creak of metal.

"Why are you in a wheelchair?" Dean was blearily rubbing his eyes, as if that would help make things clearer or vanish Bobby entirely.

"Its your dream. I hated this thing, no idea why you put me back in it." he wheeled back over to where Dean was sitting. "Look, I'm going to make this quick, I was having an excellent nap upstairs an' I would really like to get back to it. Since you and Sam can't seem to go a day without trying to rip eachothers throats out, you're going to take a little journey tonight. Stop me if you've heard this one. Three spirits, once crotchety old man, 'God bless us everyone'?"

"You've got to be kidding me. _A Christmas Carol_?" Dean blinked down at him incredulously. "So I'm going to be visited by the three ghosts of Christmas douchery and if Sam and I don't learn to be excellent to each other we get punished?"

"Pretty much. And before you ask, no, you can't take them all at once. First one appears when the clock strikes one." Bobby's form began shimmering in and out. "Looks like my time to go. See you on the other side, idjit." As he disappeared the old church bell began to clang out twelve.

Dean worried at his nails for awhile. The bells were still ringing in his ears. This was not what he needed right now.

* * *

Somehow Dean had fallen back into a fitful sleep, with the covers bunched around his feet. He was tucked up into himself, shivering and breaking out in goosebumps. He didn't hear the door open or the sound of the tiny feet that rushed to the bed to meet him. The wind came whistling in, bringing a carpet of fog with it. The door clicked shut of its own accord.

"Dean? Hey Dean, wake up." a little voice said somewhere near Dean's ear while a small hand shook his shoulder. The bed dipped a little as whatever the small creature was crawled in close. "_Dean!_" it hissed directly into his ear.

He jumped up, swaying a little on his feet, and feeling slightly dizzy from getting up too fast. His eyes locked on the little boy that was now sitting on his bed. He blinked hard a few times and rubbed his eyes for good measure. The small figure was dressed in a sweater that was much too big, yet ratty and clearly hand me down. His pants were an half inch too short, and had dirt on the knees. But his face was clean and rosy tinted on the cheeks and nose. He wore a silver circlet that shone with bright light like white hot iron, and he held a cap in one hand.

"Hi Dean." Sammy smiled, showing off several gaps from missing teeth.

"Sammy. You're my first visitor? How old are you?" Dean sat back on the bed, shielding his eyes a little from the light.

"Six." he said, showing dean with his fingers. "Come on Dean, gotta get up. Wanna show you something."

Dean ached because its just like he remembered. Little Sammy always so excited to share things with his brother. Sammy is standing by the door with his hand on the doorknob, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet while he waited for Dean to walk over. The circlet is lighting different parts of the room as Sam moves, throwing bits into sharp relief one second, and back into shadow the next.

"Dean, look what I can do!" He fiddles with the handle before throwing open the door.

Dean remembered very quickly that it was below freezing, that there was frost and snow outside, and that he was wearing only boxers. He hurriedly pulled on a discarded pair of jeans and a warm looking flannel before shrugging on his jacket. When he approached the door he realized he didn't have to. Instead of the gusty, foggy parking lot, the door opened into another motel room. Sam took his hand, as if they were crossing the street instead of hopping through time. Dean's heart sank because he knew where this was, when this was. Broken Bow Nebraska, 1991.

* * *

Sam was eight and Dean was twelve. In the corner was a shoddily decorated tree with lights that were probably dug out of a dumpster somewhere. Sam was nestled snug in his bed while Dean slipped a pile of pilfered presents under the pathetic tree. He scampered over to the sleeping form of his brother and woke him up.

"Sam, wake up!" Sam sleepily blinked his eyes and focused on Dean. "Dad was here. Look what he brought."

"Dad was here?" he asked, sitting up.

"Yeah. Look at this we made a killing." Dean's bespeckled face was grinning ear to ear.

"Why didn't he try to wake me up?"

"He tried to, like a thousand times."

"He did?" Sam asked skeptically.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Did I tell you he would give us Christmas or what?" Sam looked at the tree. "Go on, dive in."

Present day Dean and his spectral companion watched silently from the doorway for awhile. Dean knew what was coming and stepped closer to his baby brother, his urge to protect him strong, even when it was against himself. He knew that he was lying. Dad hadn't come. Six year old Sammy firmly gripped his hand and pulled him back.

"Dean, they can't see you. Or hear you neither." he softened his grip as the memory continued to unfold.

Sam was out of bed, inspecting the loot under the tree. The only gifts there were for him, and they had real wrapping paper and bows. He brought them to the couch where he and Dean sat down and he began to unwrap.

"What is it?" Dean asked excitedly.

"Sapphire Barbie." Sam said, sounding and looking very confused.

Dean let out a snort. "Dad probably thinks you're a girl. Open that one." he pointed to the other gift still sitting in its wrap on Sam's knee.

It was a baton with ribbons coming out the ends. Sam looked disappointedly at Dean. Older Dean would have given anything not to be there, not to remember the year Sam learned everything. He had caught hell for it, but Sam was too smart to keep in the dark about what the family business really was.

"Dad never showed, did he?"

Dean was caught in his lie. "Yeah he did, I swear!"

"Dean. Where did you get this stuff?"

Dean sighed."Nice house up the block. I swear I didn't know they were chick presents. Look, I'm sure dad would have been here if he could." Dean looked embarrassed and a little sad.

Sam noticed the look and took something from his pocket and handed it to Dean. "Here take this."

"No that's for dad." he didn't take the gift.

"Dad lied to me. I want you to have it." he put the newspaper wrapped package in Dean's hand.

"You sure?" Sam nodded. He slowly unwrapped the newsprint, revealing an amulet on black string. "Thank you Sam. I love it." he pulled the necklace over his head as Sam smiled.

The Dean standing near the doorway absently pressed his hand to his chest where the amulet would have rested had he still possessed it and not tossed it out in a moment of anger. The little ghost was still holding his hand. He gave Dean a reassuring squeeze.

"Time to go Dean, we have to hurry." he said looking up. He opened the door again and they were swept into another Christmas memory.

* * *

Another hotel room was on the other side. Colored lights shone through the windows. The large neon sign read Shady Lawns Motel. Except the letters in Lawns had burnt out. Dean remembered that amusing him to no end as a teenager. He and tiny Sammy stepped inside the room, his hand was getting a little sweaty but he hadn't let go yet. He didn't want to break the spell and get stuck back in time.

In high school Sam had joined the school's choir. Dean had made fun of him for it, until he realized it was a great way to meet girls, and then he wished he had thought of it. They were attending some tiny high school just outside of Toledo, Ohio. December had come with frequent snow storms that left great lazy snow drifts against the motel windows.

It was Christmas eve and Sam was pacing the floor waiting for Dean to get out of the shower. He was dressed up in the nicest clothes he could find. A pair of black pants he had found at a resale store that happened to be two inches too long, but the nicest pair he could find. A white button up that was Dean's, too wide in the shoulders, arms rolled up to hide a stain on the sleeve. He didn't have any nice shoes so he was wearing his sneakers. His teeth were brushed, his hair freshly washed and neatly combed.

Dean banged his way out of the bathroom, towel around his hair and amulet gleaming against his skin, making as much noise as possible, trying to find some clean clothes in his mess of a duffel bag. He flung a dirt encrusted shirt to the floor, an empty bottle of aspirin, a half eaten burger still in the wrapper. He finally resurfaced with a grey shirt and a pine green Henley. He sniffed each item before deeming it wearable. Then he looked over at Sam who was still pacing the floor.

"Going somewhere Sammy?" he asked the nervous ball of energy that was his younger brother.

Sam stopped his frantic wearing down of carpet fibers. He was far too old for tears but they threatened to come anyway when he looks at Dean. He holds them back but the lump in his throat is audible.

"Dad was supposed to drive me to the holiday concert. He just left." Dean pretended not to hear the small sniffle when Sam turned his back.

Woodward High School was at least a forty minute walk from the motel. If they hurried and nobody slipped on the ice. The look on Sam's face was pure misery. He should have known better. John probably hadn't even been listening to what he was agreeing to. Sam was too old to believe everything dad said as well.

"What are you waiting for then? We gotta go." Dean was off in a blur, piling on winter clothing, jackets, hats, mittens. Making sure Sam was wrapped up nice, and warm, and layer-y.

He felt like that kid in _A Christmas Story _who can't put his arms down. He could feel sweat begin to prickle along his lower back. And the hat was messing up his hair. Dean was out the door like a shot, and before Sam knew what he was doing he heard the clicking catch, then roar, that signaled his brother had hotwired a car. The version of Dean that was standing in the corner was grinning slightly. That had been only the third time he had employed that little trick. He remembered vividly the rusted out, rambling, four door, piece of crap he had "borrowed" to help Sam.

Sam had stood looking out the window for a moment before heading out to the parking lot. Older Dean and younger Sammy followed behind. Dean felt himself being tugged, then a weird cold tickle in his stomach, then he was being yanked through the closed hotel door and out into the lot. The same thing happened when he went to open the car door and instead kind of got sucked in. Both miniature versions of Sam were smiling as they fishtailed out of the mostly empty parking lot.

* * *

The auditorium they end up in is dark and chilly. There were large metal risers covering the light streaked stage. Dean and other Dean and little Sammy that wore the crown settled themselves in the back row. Dean hoped no one would come down the row and sit on him, since that was apparently something that could happen now. He wasn't sure exactly how he related to objects in this world. He had been sucked through doors, but found the seat firm and real beneath him.

Behind thick magenta curtains there was just a peek of movement and round, spot light paled faces looked through the cracks. The teens filed out like little ducks all in a row. They took their places on the risers, girls tottering in on heels, and the boys all looked ridiculous in their borrowed finery. Sam stood on the end, nervously working a loose button in his fingers. The choir director came out, giving a little Miss America wave to the crowd and an overly bubbly speech about the preparations for the concert. Parents in the rows coughed and fidgeted. She eventually took a seat at a scuffed piano and began to play the first notes of ___Oh Holy Night_.

Sam stopped playing with his loose button, looked up nervously, and followed a tall, angular girl with a large bun of golden hair to the mic at the center of the stage. She smiled winningly toward the crowd, not a dash of nervousness about her. Dean could recall the face, but not the name. Just one more nameless girl he had been with in the near endless list. Sam cautiously cleared his throat and then began in a soft tenor voice.

_"Oh holy night._

_The stars are brightly shining._

_It is the night of our dear Savior's birth._

_Long lay the world in sin and error pining._

_Til he appeared and the soul felt its worth."_

He stopped, his face split in a confident and relieved grin. He hadn't messed it up. He gave a little shuffling step back from the microphone. The girl began to sing her part. Her voice high and clear as a bell. Dean remembered that voice very very well.

_"A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices._

_For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn_

_Fall on your knees,_

_Oh hear the angel voices._

_Oh night divine._

_Oh night when Christ was born."_

Then they were walking back to their risers as the voices of all the other members backed them. The miniature version of Sammy was kicking his legs against the seat in front of him excitedly. His tiny hand was entwined with Dean's and he kept looking over to check Dean's expression. This had been a happy memory. After the concert the brothers had gone out for hot chocolate and Dean didn't make fun of Sam once for being in choir.

* * *

Sammy zapped them in this time, not bothering with the magical door trick. He giggled as Dean clutched his abdomen uncomfortably. He was really getting sick of people and/or angels zapping him to and fro like a particularly uncooperative sack of potatoes. The scent of car fresheners very nearly hit him like a ton of bricks because he was materialized almost directly on top of the tree like one of those golden haired angel tree toppers. This only caused the mischievous sprite to giggle all the more.

"Shut up Sam." he growled.

The room smelled of cloying and fake vanilla, coconut, and pine. I was so brightly lit and full of humming electricity if anyone even thought of plugging something into a socket every light in the tri-state area would go out. And the great big unspeakable sadness of Dean going to hell was hanging around the room like the lingering scent of the air fresheners Sam had chosen to decorate with.

Dean watched himself take a sip of eggnog and wince at the amount of liquor it contained. He sat in a chair next to the tiny loveseat his brother was perched on and pulled a bag onto his lap. Inside there were two gifts wrapped in brown paper.

"Merry Christmas Sam." He handed the gifts to him.

Sam looked grateful as he accepted his gifts. "Where'd you get these?"

"Someplace special." Sam looked at him. "The gas mart down the street." Sam laughed. "Open them up."

Sam sets his gifts down next to him and rifles through his own plastic bag. "Great minds think alike Dean." He put something wrapped in newspaper into Dean's upturned palm. "There you go."

Dean smiled and pointed at Sam's gifts. "Come on."

Sam ripped through the paper and held two magazines up. "Skin mags!" he tore into the other gift. "And..." he pulled something out of the paper scraps. "Shaving cream." he gave a throaty laugh.

Dean chuckled and began to unwrap his gifts. "Look at this," he opened a candy bar and bottle of motor oil. "Fuel for me and fuel for my baby." he looked over at a grinning Sam. "These are awesome. Thanks."

Sam gave a sad little smile. Dean lifts his eggnog. "Merry Christmas, bro."

Sam tapped the lip of his glass against Dean's. "Merry Christmas." They sat in silence for awhile. "Hey Dean?" Sam paused and sighed. "Do you feel like watching the game?"

"Absolutely."

"All right." Sam leaned toward the ancient tv and turned the knob. It was snowing outside. They sat quietly and watched the Chargers beat the tar out of the Broncos while they sipped their eggnog.

* * *

Dean was no longer holding Sammy's hand. He wasn't even on the same side of the room. He was standing behind the loveseat, the trail of one tear still on his face.

"Why did you show me this?" the small spirit came up and tried to put his hand on Dean's arm. He shook it off.

"Dean. I'm sorry." He looked up into Dean's face with his big puppy eyes. "I didn't want to, but I was s'posed ta." his small forehead creased into an unpleasant frown.

"Yeah. Okay." Dean ran his hands over his face.

The circlet on Sammy's head began to dim and then flare with great intensity. "I have to go." he reached out his arms and Dean knelt down and swept him into a hug.

In an instant he was back in bed. And he really had to pee.

Dean was faced with two options. Get up in the cold dark room, stumble over to the bathroom trying not to stub his toes, pee, and come back to bed. Or he could have a contest of wills with his bladder, turn over, and try to force some sleep. The second option was preferable, but unlikely to work. Giving his best world-weary sigh, he slogged his way to the bathroom.

Underneath the closed door, there was light. Dean pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. Not the whisper of wind, whirr of a fan, the rush of water. Complete silence. He carefully twisted the knob and silently cracked the door to peek inside. The bathroom was empty. He gave a little shrug and flung the door open.

* * *

All he heard for a moment was the whooshing, torn paper sound of feathers. They ripped through the air, blue, and black, and tan, and white, and deep chestnut brown. Like whispers, a flock of angels departed the room, leaving one solitary figure standing by a long oak table. It stood with its back turned to Dean, wings spread out like smudges of ink on poor quality paper. They arched and flexed in the illumination of the fireplace the angel stood in front of. A flowing white robe swept the floor, and he held a torch. On his dark locks sat a wreath of holly and ivy.

"I am the Angel of Christmas Present. Look upon me." Castiel turned to face Dean, feathers fluttering, robe open at the chest, and cinched with a navy sash. His face was illuminated by the green flame of his torch."Hello Dean."

"Cas." Dean half wanted to laugh at the strange get up Cas was in. Another look at the angel's face made him change his mind. "Who were they?" he meant the angels that has flown their roost.

"My brothers. Did you know, Dean, that I once had more than more than eighteen hundred brothers? Now there are less than one hundred." he looked down at his bare feet sadly. "It is likely that I won't see them again for a long time."

It was well established what Dean thought about most angels. His thoughts could be generally summed up by saying feathery dicks, or something of the like. As if he had been looking into his thoughts, Cas spoke.

"There are some who claim to know us, who do their deeds of passion, pride, hatred, bigotry, and selfishness in our name, who are strange to us and all our kin as if they had never lived. It would be wise to remember that, and hold them responsible as much as us." Castiel glared at the other until Dean was uncomfortable and looked away.

Dean looked at the giant oak table. It was covered with at least twenty place settings, gleaming silverware, bone china plates, and a heap of food. A whole roasted pig with a bright red apple in its mouth, coils of sausages, baked potatoes, a standing beef roast, leg of lamb, oranges, huge crocks full of beans and stewed fruit, steaming plates of greens, huge red crab legs, a pumpkin pie, juicy chin dripping peaches, jars of pickle, cranberry sauce, a whole roast goose, sweet rolls the size of your head, and pots of both cream and raspberry jam. All the smells mingled in a heavenly mixture that hung almost tangible in the air.

Dean sank into one of the cushy looking red chairs, put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands and sniffed the air. "I hope you don't plan on zapping me anywhere, because I'm not leaving this room." he said, as he found a clean plate and covered it with fried eggs and bacon he had found under a pile of sausages.

"That can be arranged." Castiel snapped his fingers and one wall turned into an opaque screen. Snow flurried on the other side of it. He took a seat near to Dean, wings pulled up tight behind him as he sat back in the chair. "Watch closely." he snapped again and more things began to appear as if there were a projector somewhere, and they were in a cinema.

It was a perfect image of the parking lot outside, the sidewalk, and several houses beyond. The old bell of the church could be heard in the distance chiming out three in the afternoon. It was a blue and bright Christmas day, everything covered in at least a foot of snow. People were shoveling their drives, children built snowmen, and people of all ages engaged in snowball fights.

Two young women made their way down the sidewalk, arm and arm. The taller one with dark hair was singing ___I Saw Three Ships_and her partner, with longer light hair, had her head back laughing. They skipped over the icy cement like Dorthy and company off to see the wizard. A snow ball whizzed over their heads and the one with the dark hair untangled her arm to give a tall teen in a red knit cap a rude hand gesture and toss a snowball back. Things devolved into a cheerful snowball fight involving a group of people flinging snow in all directions, diving for cover, building quick improvised snow forts. The two women scampered off and ducked behind a near by car to catch their breath.

In his seat, Castiel raised his green torch and made a sign. "Et benedictio Dei omnipotentis, Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti descendat super vos et maneat semper" The wall flickered emerald for a minute then resumed its view of the winter scene with other people now in view. A set of shabby looking boys and a gaggle of red nosed children passed into view. Cas made the same sign and the cold looking children began to laugh and grin.

"What was that?" Dean mouthed around a wad of cornbread stuffing.

"A blessing." Cas informed him, making a few more signs.

Dean forked a bit of ham into his mouth. "'S nice of you."

"Just one of my many angelic duties." With a wave of his hand, the screen on the wall changed again, now showing a new scene.

* * *

The area looked swampy and humid. There was no snow, no lights, no jingling bells. Just a few sagging one room shacks with decaying sun porches. Crickets chirped and things in the swamp gurgled. A candle gave off a slight orange glow in one the windows, tall trees with slender limbs draped in spanish moss crowded around the small shelters. Outside, under the cover of the foliage was a pick up truck.

The view swept around so that the inside of the domicile was in view. The room was empty save for a faded army cot. The floors were splintered wood with one lone dusty rug with an oft kicked upturn at one corner. A man was lounging on the cot, reading a cover-less book with a flashlight tucked under his scruffy chin and another candle on the floor beside the bed on a wedge of broken plate.

"Benny? Is he okay?" he looked sheepishly at Cas. The angel and the vampire had never really gotten on.

Castiel nodded. "He won't be here for long, although I can not tell you where he will go next."

Benny was in hiding somewhere. Where that somewhere was, Dean couldn't have guessed. One of those swampy southern states that had a green, ninety degree Christmas. He stuck a bit of cloth to save his place in the book, clicked off the tiny flashlight and set it on the floor, then reached down to lift the candle close to his face. He took one last look around his little hovel before blowing the flame neatly out and disappearing with the wisp of smoke into another vision.

* * *

The sun was coming in through lavender curtains. In the distance a worn voice could be heard calling bingo. A couple of men sat off in a corner playing chess. A small card table was set up with four chairs around it. Settled awkwardly in one of the chairs was Castiel. He was gingerly holding a handful of cards and looking confident, if slightly lost.

"What's trump?" he asked the woman next to him. The phrase sounded ridiculous in Cas' deep angel voice. Dean recognized the woman as Minnie from the nursing home where he last saw Cas.

"Hearts, dear." she said laying down a card.

Castiel worried the worn edge of one of his cards before laying it down. Minnie smiled and patted his hand proudly.

"Cas, how can you be here when you're already there? Dean asked the angel sitting beside him.

"I'm not really here at all. You're only dreaming that I'm here. This is a vision."

Back on the screen, a knock was heard at the door and a woman in bright pink scrubs came in. She was wheeling a chair with Fred Jones in it, another nurse came behind her wheeling another patient.

"We have a surprise for you today!" the first nurse said cheerily. "St. Luke's youth choir is here to sing you Christmas carols." as she was speaking a group of children began to file in.

Under all their coats and winter apparel, these fresh faced youth were dressed in burgundy robes. They formed two lines, taller children in back. One of the children in the front row stood in front and took a conductor's stance. They all quieted and stood straighter before launching into _Carol of the Bells_. It was beautiful.

"Do you know any Christmas carols Cas?" Dean asked, continued to work through the great piles of food..

"Yes. Several. But they sound better in enochian."

After that, Dean watched in silence for awhile, looking between the choir and the smiling faces of the seniors, and the peaceful face of the real Castiel. He wasn't worried about him, he seemed like he would be okay here. The picture began to fade out until the wall was just a wall again.

Cas seemed to be shrinking into his robe. He shook his torch and gave Dean a Christmas blessing. "Its time for me to leave Dean." he said solemnly. He was becoming slightly smaller with each blink of Dean's eyes. The size of a small man, then a child, then a dog, then a cat, then a hedgehog, then a mouse. "Merry Christmas!" he squeaked before disappearing with a pop. Shortly after, the whole room disappeared with a fizzle and Dean found himself laying in the bath tub.

He still had to pee.

* * *

He hoped the next spirit would at least give him the chance to empty his bladder before whisking him away. He maneuvered his way out of the tub, groaning as he cracked his back. He took a quick leak and washed his hands, splashing a bit of cold water on his face. He opened the door. Nothing happened.

He crossed the room and slid the lock shut, crawled back into bed, hunkered down under the comforter and willed himself into unconsciousness. Outside the wind blew the snow into curlicues and drifts. Piling up on cars and the roofs of houses. Snow plows roved the streets, spreading salt over ice patches and clearing two foot high drifts of snow from the roads.

The bells in the old church spire began to groan with movement before clanging loudly, three chimes. The chain on the door began to glow before it snapped in half. The door blew open with a cold, loud bang. Dean yanked the covers over his head and smashed his face into the pillow. He really needed his four hours.

The trailing black fog snaked its way under the covers. Dean shivered and curled tighter into himself. A lick of fog curled up under his shirt and ran down his spine making his teeth chatter. A figure standing in the open doorway cleared its throat.

"Fuck. Off." Dean grumbled, stuffing the thin pillow over his head, then the blanket over the pillow.

"Dean is that any way to speak to someone who is trying to help you?" said Death. "I'm not here for my health you know." Death tapped his cane once on the floor and the door shut and a chair shuffled itself over for him to sit on. "Well lets get this over with. I can't take a holiday just because its almost Christmas."

Dean begrudgingly removed the bedclothes from around his head. "Friggin spirits. Ghost of Christmas Future my ass." he muttered under his breath. It would probably be unwise to keep Death himself waiting. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. Death motioned him into a chair right beside him. Dean settled in, trying not to piss off Death. He could never tell where he stood with the guy.

The horseman reached out with two fingers and touched them lightly to Dean's forehead.

* * *

It was very much like dreaming, but Dean knew it wasn't. Or maybe it was a dream within a dream. He was seeing thing, visions of terrible things he had never wanted to see. His own body burned. The smell of roasted flesh, burnt hair, and charred bones.

Cas staring up with his too blue eyes, looking into the heavens and seeing nothing. The ashes of his wings blown out black behind him, and a blade through his chest. Then the headless but still identifiable body of Benny, with a thick, coagulated blood trail leading to where his head lay in the mud with such a shocked expression on its dirty face.

And Sam. No angry smashing, punching, rending of garments, or wailing. Not deep heart wrenching sobs of anguish. Just quiet, bone deep pain welling up and spilling over. Tears running down his cheeks in slick tracks all the way down down down until they dropped off the point of his chin into his hands, onto his shirt. Little sniffles as he sat there just staring at a motel room door. His brother was gone. He was wasn't ever coming through that door again.

Then it was dark. Dean sucked in a huge breath like he had been underwater for a long time. His chest hurt and he could feel the tracks of tears he couldn't remember crying.

"That's what happens when you don't clean up your messes. My time is up. You had better fix whatever this is." he stood, gripped his cane, and gave a last look over his shoulder. "I hope I don't see you again soon." Then he was gone.

* * *

It was nearly six thirty in the morning. The sun was up, and the sky a thin and pale blue. Dean's phone was buzzing on the bedside table. He reached out a hand to swat at it, catching it before it hit the ground.

"Mmm...hello?" Dean felt like he had been sleeping for three years straight.

A tinny voice came over the line. "Dean, hey. Its Garth."

Not Garth. He already had his fill of spirits, he had already put up with three. "What time is it?" he asked. Then he thought of a more important question. "What day is it?"

Garth sounded amused. "Its six thirty on Christmas day. How could you forget that? Anyway I was saying-" Dean never found out what he was saying. He clicked his phone closed. It was Christmas day. He needed to see Sam.

He could see, between the slats of the blinds, that it was snowing outside. He lept up and stuffed his feet into his boots. He snagged a flannel overshirt off the back of a chair and unbolted the door. It banged shut behind him as he nearly ran all the way to Sam's room.

Dean banged his fist against the door. "Sam! Sammy, let me in!" he continued his loud knocking until the door was yanked rudely away and he was staring up at a bleary but decidedly cross Sam Winchester.

"Where's the fire?" he joked, scratching the back of his foot using his calf. "Dean?"

Dean said nothing. He looked at Sam for a moment and Sam looked back. Then extended his arms and brought Sam in for a hug so tight he thought they may be stuck together by the end of it.

"We gotta fix this Sam. Whatever our slights real or imagined, we gotta repair this." Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam looked into Dean's eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give up on you. But you have to understand that to me, you and Cas seemed to just snap out of existence. I didn't know what to do."

Dean sighed. "You are my brother. I'm sorry if I said anything otherwise. Nobody I would rather have than you." he pulled his brother into another crushing hug. "I knew those things would hurt you the most, but we need to be together on things. We're not done saving the world yet."

Sam rubbed his hand up and down Dean's back. "Merry Christmas Dean."

"Merry Christmas Sam."

******Note:**** This took forever to complete, but I am so proud of it. A Christmas Carol is probably my favorite story about Christmas time. I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas, or a happy holiday. And a fantastic new year!**


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